


Love

by debit



Category: Discworld - Terry Pratchett
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-28
Updated: 2011-08-28
Packaged: 2017-10-23 04:20:22
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 316
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/246224
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/debit/pseuds/debit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Bursar finds something better than dried frog pills.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Love

**Author's Note:**

> Written November 2003.

'Oook?'  
'I like to listen to a man who likes to talk! Whoops! Sawdust and treacle! Put that in your herring and smoke it!'  
\--The Librarian and the Bursar from Lords and Ladies

 

The Bursar made his way across the Great Hall. Like a small boat in an uncertain wind, he tacked more or less steadily toward the entrance to the Library. For once he wasn't talking to himself, or Bostwick, his imaginary enemy. Instead he was humming a tune that Ponder Stibbons recognized as one of Bloody Johnson's minor sonatas. He looked, well, not normal, but closer to it than usual, and happy. Ponder turned to his companion and said, "New batch of dried frog pills?"

"No," the Senior Wrangler said with a disdainful sniff. "Love."

Ponder considered this, then noticed the bunch of bananas the Bursar carried like a bouquet of flowers and said, in a very small voice, "oh."

"It's unnatural is what it is."

"What? Because they're both-"

"No, not at all." The Senior Wrangler drew himself up defensively. "There's nothing wrong with two chaps, well, being chaps together. Comrades in arms, you know. It's practically required in the Klatchian Foreign Legion and you don't hear anyone telling them it's unnatural. Of course, they'd cut your head off and use it as a chamber pot if you did, but even so. This is wossname. Bestiality."

"Technically, he's not really a mon--er. Ape."

"He's got prehensile toes," the Senior Wrangler said with a significant wiggle of his eyebrows.

"Ten of them," the Bursar called out. "And a tire swing."

"Well," Ponder said as the Senior Wrangler turned red and the Bursar disappeared through the door of the Library. "That explains the creaking noises, doesn't it? And," he added as the door reopened just long enough for a long, hairy hand to hang a 'closed' sign on the knob, "the cries of 'wheeeeeeeeeeeee!'"


End file.
